--To Liz Prescott
Thank God the burial service had been brief and with few people present.
Why, not even the three or four relatives Charlie did have were there, so
Dolores was able to avoid having to make believe that she was sad, trying
to hide the expression of near joy which, she was sure, was reflected on
her face. God, why hadn't this occurred long ago? The vexation and the embarrassment
that could have been avoided! After all, now she could rest in peace at
home and Charlie, too, wherever he might be. Although knowing him . . .
.
Charlie -- how ridiculous to use that silly diminutive for someone who was
every inch a man, almost elderly, and so bitter that, more than a man, he
was a caricature, a sad joke, or for those who daily had to put up with
him, a terrible punishment.
Dolores arrived home. She drew a deep breath and felt a sensation of ineffable
tranquility. She went up to her room, took off her deceitful mourning clothes,
her high heels, so uncomfortable, and put on a lounging robe. Barefoot,
with freedom rising from her very toes, she went down the stairs slowly,
entered the living room, and settled herself lazily into an armchair, the
only comfortable armchair, Charlie's, the one with the best view of their
peaceful little garden. Why had she always accepted this implicit ownership?
Was it out of fear? Out of laziness?
Dolores would elaborate no more on those useless, laborious thoughts; she
wanted neither to become embittered, nor to cloud the peace she felt. For
that reason she got up and went to the cocktail cabinet to fix herself a
whiskey the way she liked it -- a little ice and a little whiskey -- and
not the way Charlie insisted on drowning it with soda, even though she had
told him a thousand times that she found soda water repugnant.
The light was withdrawing gently from the garden. As the shadows extended,
they softened the brilliant colors of the flowers. The outlines became ill-defined.
The silence seemed to envelope her in a serenity she hadn't known for years
or perhaps had never known. Was it possible that one could live that way
-- without turmoil, without fear of the next instant?
It occurred to her that it must be dinner time, but why disturb her peace?
No longer would there be regimented hours, nor shouting, nor demands. Now
the hours of the day would elapse at their own pace without stupid obligations
or unnecessary haste, without fear or stifling situations. She would clean
the house in her own good time and not at the urgent demand of her insufferable
husband, nor out of fear. She would have dinner when she felt like it and
not eat routinely one exasperating meal after another, exactly at the same
time, day after day. She would be able to go out and look straight ahead,
not as she used to do it before, furtively, afraid to encounter the reproving,
though justified, looks of her neighbors.
###
"Mother, don't you think we ought to pay our respects to Dolores? She
must be very lonely. No one, as far as I know, has come to see her since
she returned from the cemetery."
"Whatever makes you think that, Ann? If we were to go over now, she
would think that we were crazy or, even worse, that we were making fun of
her. Besides, frankly, I don't think she needs the slightest bit of consolation,
and much less ours, which can hardly be sincere. Don't you think so, Kelly?"
"Well, I don't know, Mother. After all, Dolores was not to blame, and
she certainly must have suffered enough already, living with that nut all
her life."
"Don't you think we should at least call her in case she needs anything?"
insisted Ann.
"But girls, is it possible that you have forgotten the embarrassment
that madman caused us? The times that we had to appear in court to give
an accounting of our lives, to prove that neither was I a madam, nor were
you prostitutes? The times that your parties were interrupted by the police,
coming to investigate a report, always made by Charlie, that this house
was a den of iniquity for minors? And when they no longer paid any attention
to Charlie, not to his accusations, when finally the authorities were convinced
that the only people living in this house, and in a very decent and normal
fashion, were a widow and her three daughters, don't you remember how Charlie
began to wage a merciless war against us with his shotgun from the window?"
Mrs. Porter got up, went toward the window and, for the first time in many,
many years, drew back the heavy curtains. Curiously and almost with astonishment,
she looked across the paved walkway at the big Victorian house which, merely
by its size, seemed to dominate hers. She realized how much it had aged
-- as have I, she thought. The paint was peeling. The wooden trimming
which had decorated the edge of the roof, so typical of that style, revealed
black spaces like a mouth will missing teeth. She became lost in her thoughts.
Then, making an effort, she looked upward until she fixed her gaze on a
window, Charlie's cursed window.
"And speaking of windows, don't you remember that nice window fitter,
always willing to come as soon as we called, even at night?"
"You mean Johnny? Of course, I remember him. The instant we saw Charlie
go down the street we notified him to come replace the latest window panes
that madman had destroyed with his BB gun."
"It's true," said Mrs. Porter, now smiling. And what about the
day Charlie returned unexpectedly and found Johnny at the top of his ladder?
He had a fit! He gave that ladder such a kick that it fell with a bang,
breaking, as luck would have it, the one window Charlie's BB gun had missed."
"Ha, ha," laughed Kelly. "I don't think I'll ever forget
the expression on Johnny's face, between terror and astonishment, as he
hung from that window. It was a miracle that he didn't crack his skull open.
Poor fellow. I wonder what became of him."
"Back then we must have been the best customers he had, don't you think
so, Mother?"
"Yes, I'm sure of it, Ann. What times those were! And the worst part
was that that dreadful Charlie wasn't content just to shoot out our window
panes; after that he wouldn't let us replace them because the ladder would
need to stand on a little piece of his property. I don't know what would
have happened if we hadn't decided to condemn that side of the house and
get used to living in more cramped quarters, putting up with more heat in
the summer and less light in the winter. Once Charlie no longer saw us in
the window, he'd shoot only when he had a whim to do so, but not with the
terrifying regularity nor, I think, with the same satisfaction on his part."
"What I've never been able to understand, Mother, is why they never
put him in jail or in a mental hospital. Didn't you report him time after
time?"
"Well, of course I reported him, and I wasn't the only one, Kelly.
Why, just in window glass alone I spent more than on food. I never could
understand how he continued to live peacefully in his house without anyone
daring to prosecute him in spite of continuous protests from the neighbors.
Years ago, someone, I don't know who, told me that Charlie had important
political contacts and that they were afraid of him. Perhaps they were right."
"How did Charlie support himself?"
"I don't have the slightest idea. I don't even remember seeing him
go out to work. Because of that, when they bought the house next door, I
thought he must be retired from the service or the police. Those people
can retire relatively early and with almost all their salary. Soon I changed
my mind. He was too arrogant and he had too much money to have been simply
a serviceman.
###
Night had fallen. All that could be seen between the bushes was the flickering
light in the garden next door. Dolores was still sitting in the comfortable
armchair with the almost-full glass in her hands. Brief images of that infernal
life with Charlie passed through her mind; how long it had lasted she didn't
know. Had it always been that way, so tortured, so shameful, from the beginning
of her marriage? Unconsciously, she tried to put those thoughts aside. She
had to bury, together with Charlie, that whole past which was much better
forgotten, although in the undercurrent of her married life there must have
been good moments; otherwise it would be difficult to explain how, young
and inexperienced though she was, she had married him, if then he was already
the madman he later turned out to be.
Suddenly her neighbor's figure outlined in the window jolted her like the
crack of a whip. Dolores sat up straight in the chair, put the glass down
on the coffee table and placed her hands on the edges of the armchair, in
a state of alertness, ready to run at the least indication. With her heart
pounding, she waited to hear the first round from Charlie's gun. Her tension
was so great that she even thought she heard it, followed by the sound of
a cascade of glass hitting the asphalt walkway.
Almost as suddenly as the fear had gripped her, Dolores grew aware that
she had suffered an illusion; and then her nerves, damaged from that moment
of horrifying fear, took revenge with a strident, involuntary laugh which
filled the room, disappeared in the stairway, and played among the shadows
in the garden.
"Listen. Don't you hear her? It seems incredible, but Ann was right.
Poor Dolores is crying inconsolably."
Translation by Joyce Haggerty, Framingham State College
Aqui Descansa Charlie...
A Liz Prescott
Gracias a Dios la ceremonia del entierro habia sido breve y con poca asistencia
de publico. Ni siquiera habian aparecido los tres o cuatro parientes de
Charlie de modo que Dolores se habia evitado le comedia de hacer ver que
estaba triste, de tratar de ocultar la expresion casi de alegria que, estaba
segura, reflejaba su cara. Senor, como no habia ocurrido esto mucho antes?
La de disgustos y verguenzas que se hubiera evitado! En fin, ahora podria
ella descansar en su casa y Charlie, alla donde estuviera. Aungue conociendole...
Charlie, que ridiculo llamar con ese diminutivo a un hombre hecho y derecho,
casi viejo, y tan agriado y desvariado que mas que un hombre era una caricatura,
una broma pesada o, para los que le tenian que sufrir de cerca, un terrible
castigo.
Dolores llego a su casa. Respiro hondamente con usa sensacion de tranquilidad
inefable. Subio a su dormitorio. Se quito la mentirosa ropa de luto, los
zapatos de tacon, tan incomodos, y se puso una bata suelta. Descalza, con
la libertad subiendole desde los desnudos dedos del pie, bajo lentamente
la escalera, entro en la sala, y se arrellano perezosamente en el sillon.
El unico sillon comodo, el de Charlie, el que disfrutaba de la mejor vista
del apacible jardincillo. Por que habria ella siempre aceptado esa propiedad
implicita? Por miedo? Por desidia?
No siguio Dolores elaborando esas inutiles lucubraciones: no queria amargarse
ni enturbiar la placidez que sentia. Por lo mismo, se levanto, se dirigio
al mueble-bar y se preparo un whiskey a su gusto -- poco hielo y poco whiskey
-- y no al de Charlie que se empenaba en ahogarselo en soda aunque le hubiera
dicho mil veces que la soda le repugnaba.
La luz se iba retirando del jardin dulcemente. Las sombras, alargandose,
difuminaban los brillantes colores de las flores. Los contornos se desvahian.
El silencio parecia acunarla en una serenidad que desconocia desde hacia
anos o acaso nunca hubiera conocido. Seria posible que se pudiera vivir
asi, sin sobresaltos, sin temor al proximo instante?
Penso que debia ser la hora de la cena, pero por que romper aquella paz?
Ya no existian las horas reglamentarias, ni los gritos, ni las exigencias.
Ahora, las horas y los dias transcurririan a su paso, sin tontas obligaciones
ni correndillas innecesarias, sin sustos ni sofocos. Limpiaria la casa a
su aire y no por requierimiento perentorio de su insufrible marido o por
miedo. Cenaria cuando tuviera deseos de hacerlo y no, por rutina, una comida
exasperante detras de otra, exactamente a la misma hora, dia tras dia. Podria
salir a la calle y mirar de frente, no como antes que lo hacia furtivamente,
temiendo encontrarse la mirada reprobadora, con razon, de sus vecinos.
###
--Mama, no crees que deberiamos ir a dar el pesame a Dolores? Debe de estar
muy sola. Nadie, que yo sepa, ha venido a verla desde que ha vuelto del
cementerio.
-- Como se te puede ocurrir tal cosa, Ann? Si fueramos se penseria que estabamos
locas o, todavia peor, que nos queriamos burlar de ella. Ademas, francamente,
no creo que necesite el manor consuelo y mucho menos el nuestro que no puede
ser sincero. No te parece, Kelly?
--Pues no se, mama. Despues de todo, Dolores no tenia la culpa y bastante
ha debido sufrir viviendo con ese chalado toda su vida.
-- No os parece que por lo menos deberiamos llamarle por telefono por si
necesita algo? --insistio Ann.
--Pero, hijas mias, es posible que os hayais olvidado de las verguenzas
que ese energumeno nos hizo pasar?, las veces que tuvimos que ir ante el
juez a dar cuenta de nuestras vidas, a probar que ni yo era una alcahueta
ni vosotros prostitutas?; las ocasiones en que vuestros guateques fueron
interrumpidos por la llegada de la policia que venia a investigar la denuncia,
siempre de Charlie, de que esta casa era un antro de perversion de menores?
Y cuando ya no hacian caso a Charlie ni a sus denuncias, cuando al fin las
autoridades decidieron convencerse de que en esta casa solo vivia una viuda
con sus tres hijas de la manera mas normal y decente, no recordais la guerra
sin cuartel que nos hizo Charlie con su escopeta desde aquella ventana?
La senora Porter se levanto, se dirigio a una ventana y, por primera vez
en muchisimos anos, descorrio la pesada cortina que la cubria. Con curiosidad,
casi con asombro, miro, del otro lado del pasadizo asfaltado, la casona
de estilo Victoriano que solo por su tamano parecia dominar la suyo. Se
dio cuenta de como habia envejecido -- como yo, penso. La pintura se caia
a tiras. Los adornos de madera que habian decorado los bordes del tejado,
tan tipicos de ese estilo, mostraban negros vacios como una boca desdentada.
Se quedo un rato absorta. Luego, haciendo un esfuerzo, fue subiendo la mirada
hasta fijarla en una ventana, la maldita ventana de Charlie.
--Hablando de ventanas, no os acordais de aquel cristalero tan simpatico
que estaba dispuesto a venir tan pronto como le llamabamos, aungue fuera
de noche?
-- Te refieras a Johnny? Ya lo creo que me acuerdo! En el instante que veiamos
a Charlie enfilar la calle, avisabamos para que nos viniera a colocar los
cristales de turno que ese loco nos habia destrozado a perdigonazos.
--Es verdad --dijo la senora Porter, ahora sonriendo. Que me decis de aquel
dia que Charlie volvio de improviso y se encontro a Johnny en lo alto de
la escalera de mano? Como se puso! La patada que dio a la escalera fue tal
que la hizo caer estrepitosamente y con tan mala fortuna que nos rompio
el unico cristal que los perdigones de Charlie nos habia dejado sano.
--Ja, ja --rio Kelly. --No creo que pueda olvidar nunca la expresion de
Johnny, entre aterrada y asombrada, colgando de la ventana. Fue un milagro
que no se rompiera la crisma. Pobrecillo! Que habra sido de el?
--Por aquel entonces debimos ser los mejores clientes de la cristaleria,
no crees mama?
--Si, estoy segura de ello, Ann. Que tiempos aquellos! Yo lo malo era que
el brujo de Charlie no se contentaba solo con disparar contra nuestros cristales;
luego no dejaba cambiarlos porque para hacerlo habia que poner la escalera
en un cachito de su propiedad. No se en que hubieramos acabado de no habernos
decidido a condenar ese lado de la casa y amoldarnos a vivir mas estrechamente,
pasando mas calor en verano y con menos luz en invierno. Cuando dejo de
vernos tras las ventanas, Charlie disparaba solo cuando le daba la ventolera,
pero no con aquella regularidad pavorosa ni, creo yo, con la misma satisfaccion
por su parte.
--Lo que nunca he podido entender, mama, es como no le metieron en la carcel
o en un hospital mental. No le denunciaste to muchas veces?
--Pues claro que le denuncie y no fui yo la sola, Kelly. Si solo en cristales
hemos gastado mas que en comer! Nunca pude explicarme como seguia tan tranquilo
en su casa, sin que nadie se atreviera a procesarle a pesar de las protestas
continuas de los vecinos. Hace anos, no se quien, me dijo que Charlie tenia
importantes contactos politicos y que le tenian miedo. Acaso tuvieran razon.
-- De que vivia Charlie?
--No tengo la menor idea. Yo no creo haberle visto nunca ir a trabajar.
Por eso, a poco de comprar ellos la casa de al lado, pense que seria un
chusquero o un policia jubilado. Esos se puedon jubilar relativemente pronto
y con la casi totalidad de su sueldo. Muy pronto cambie de idea. Tenia demasiada
arrogancia y manejaba demasiado dinero para haber sido simplemente un chusquero.
###
La noche habia caido. Solo se veia, entre los arbustos, la luz vacilante
del jardin vecino. Dolores seguia en el comodo sillon con el vaso, casi
lleno, entre las manos. Por su mente desfilaban breves estampas de aquella
vida infernal que no sabia cuanto habia durado. Habria sido asi, tan torturada,
tan vergonzante, desde el principio de su matrimonio? Inconscientemente,
trataba de apartar esos pensamientos. Tenia que enterrar con Charlie todo
ese pasado que mas valia olvidar, aunque en el trasfondo de su vida matrimonial
hubiera habido momentos buenos, si no era dificil aceptar la idea de que
ella, por muy joven e inexperta que fuera, se hubiera casado con Charlie
si ya entonces era el demente que luego demostro ser.
De pronto, la figura de la vecina recortada en la ventana, le sacudio como
un latigo. Dolores se incorporo en el sillon, dejo el vaso en la mesita
y coloco las manos en los bordes de los brazos del sillon en posicion de
alerta, dispuesta a echar a correr al menor indicio. Con el corazon saliendose
del pecho espero oir la primera descarga de la escopeta de Charlie. Su tension
era tan grande que hasta le parecio oirla, seguida de la cascada de cristales
sonando en el pasadizo asfaltado.
Casi tan subitamente como el pavor se habia apoderado de ella, recobro Dolores
conciencia del espejismo que habia sufrido y entonces, sus nervios, maltrechos
por aquel momento de horroroso espanto, se vengaron en una carcajada estentorea,
involuntaria, que llenaba la sala, que se perdia escaleras arriba, que jugueteaba
entre las sombras del jardin.
###
--Escuchad. No ois? Aunque parezca mentira, Ann Tenia razon. La pobre Dolores
esta llorando desconsoladamente.
The short stories of Milagros Ortega Emmart of the Salem State College Department of Foreign Languages have appeared in publications in Spain as well as in the United States. Born in Barcelona, she is the author of Proceso de la Inquisicion contra Maria de Cazalla as well as of numerous articles, book reviews, and translations into Spanish from English and French.